'Gennie! You know you're not meant to smoke inside, balcony please!' I said, in my best scolding tone. I could never, never be angry at Gen but the landlady complained about the smell. She drained her wine, flicked her cigarette over the balcony and disappeared into the kitchen.
'How was work?' she asked.
'It was okay. Guess who I saw just before?' I called back to her. She emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of white wine.
'Who?' she asked, passing me a glass.
'Tommy Piercy.' Gen rolled her eyes at his name.
'What did he want?'
'Long macchiato, I believe,' I told her, she rolled her eyes again. 'And to show off to his hipster friends that he's tight with the staff.'
'He's such an arse,' she said, dryly. She would have said that, no matter what Tommy had wanted.
'Ugh, I know. It's so ridiculous. We're not in school anymore, being 'cool' isn't important in the real world,' I said, pausing to take a sip of wine. 'Mandy's studying in France.'
'Oh, really? I bet she's still perfect. Bitch.'
'Probably. I don't know what she's studying though, I'd say something artistic - unless she's had her soul sucked out and she's now into accounting.'
'Hmm, no, even without a soul she'd probably do something alternative. Like owning a vintage store or something,' Gen suggested. I laughed.
'Remember that time she bought a skirt from Cotton On and tried to tell everybody it was from an op shop?'
'Yes!' said Gen, waving her hands around. Gen talked with her hands all the time. Nobody knew why, it was just something she always did. 'Of course, I mean Amanda could never hurt her poor image by shopping at-' she gasped '-a chain store...' Gen was right. People like Tommy and Mandy didn't shop at chain stores, or grow up to be accountants.
photo credit - fabian
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